89 Letters
by M Li
Summary: He followed Tseng, who moved ahead with grim, unwavering purpose.


Series: FFVII Collection  
Genre: General  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: Everything, pretty much.  
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy belongs to Square.

Tifa was not completely surprised to see a former Turk walk into the dim, cluttered tavern. The children had been playing 'war games' earlier, and some of the chairs and stools were still on their sides. Tseng stepped over them, heading to the bar. The rag in Tifa's hand paused, not finishing the circle. She looked at him expectantly.

"I need something delivered." He set down a clear box, criss-crossed with red tape with envelopes inside, on the counter. "Where's the courier?"

Cloud wasn't sure what he was supposed to say; there wasn't much that would have been heard over the roar of the twin motors of the bikes anyway, but he kept casting glances at the dark haired man riding beside him... Funny, he could recall when Tseng's hair had been black, not speckled with grey. He was a little surprised he didn't have grey hairs of his own after everything. They stopped for the night under a cliff. One that they both knew well.

"Why did no one do this before?"

"You were in Gongaga, too, a few years ago, weren't you? Why didn't you?"

Cloud didn't reply.

"What do you remember?"

He didn't want to answer, but he suspected this was part of what Tseng wanted to deliver. It made sense. The whole story, or what was left of it... But he didn't know what to say. They weren't enemies now, but they weren't friends, either, and maybe some things were better left unsaid.

"There aren't many left who knew him now."

"Who else does?" Cloud wondered.

"A coworker. She quit afterward."

"And?"

"And... she was under surveillance until a couple of years ago. After that, we don't know."

But he had a feeling that Tseng did.

"I remember..." He squinted into the fire. "...Gun shots. Light..." He was silent for a long moment, trying to put those chaotic shards of recollection back together. He shook his head. "Sorry. It's still blurry."

Tseng nodded curtly. "Not surprising."

Cloud watched him warily for a long moment. The fire crackled. Tseng had one arm resting on his knee. He was watching Cloud with the same scrutiny. Cloud lowered his eyes, staring long into the heart of the fire.

"...my legacy."

"What?"

"His last words. I remembered them... not long ago."

"What was his legacy?"

Cloud looked up. "Me, I guess."

Tseng let out a short, bark of a laugh. Somehow, though, for a just a moment, his face looked almost soft.

They rode on at sunrise. Cloud wondered why they didn't take a helicopter. It seemed that even ex-Turks still had access to ShinRa technology. On some level, he was aware that he had taken this trip before... slowly, step by step, being pulled along on Zack's shoulder. He couldn't recall the details, only that he had felt safe. He leaned down further, accelerating. Safe, huh? But it was true, wasn't it? Until the very last moment, as long as Zack had been alive, he'd been safe. He wondered why. Why, when Zack could have escaped easily on his own? Why carry him? Why, when he didn't even know if Cloud would ever recover? They were friends, but not that close. Probably that had been the biggest flaw in his unconscious impersonation of the former SOLDIER, because he could never guess why, only be amazed by it. Looking back, it felt too weird to go over all the things he'd done. He sped up a little more.

They stopped for the night by a ruined landscape. Strange, cool light seeped up from the cracked earth. It looked like there might have been a town here once. Skirting the town were a few trees growing oddly coloured apples. They were out of season. Tseng picked one, studying it for a long moment before cutting it into halves and offering one to him.

"Do you remember this place?"

He shook his head.

"I'll tell you about it."

"Why?"

"Consider it a tip."

Cloud rested his chin on his knees, watching the wood crack under the smoldering heat, lines of red slowly peeling away the fibers.

"Why did he go to Gongaga from Nibelheim?"

"Probably he got lost."

Cloud considered it for a long moment and almost smiled. He could remember... faintly... Somehow, that made sense.

"Will you go back?"

'It's not that close, and there's nothing left there anyway.' He thought about saying it, but then shook his head and replied, "I don't want to miss the boat back to Midgar." He'd be late, and Tifa would be worried. The apple, uneaten, was growing brown around the edges in his hand. He ran a thumb across the edge and looked up.

"No one told Aeris, either."

Tseng looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"...I just remembered. When we were there last, we saw his parents. She said she hadn't known it was his hometown, and that he'd been missing."

"And?"

"That's all."

Tseng nodded, perhaps verifying something for himself. He looked sadder, older somehow. "They must have had a lot of catching up to do."

"She said you knew her since childhood."

"That's right. It was my job."

"That's all?"

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. The expression seemed to say, 'Do you think I'm going to tell you?' He pulled out the package, setting it down by the fire. Cloud surveyed it for a moment before deciding he was meant to pick it up.

"Letters?"

"Eight-eight of them. I've had them for far too long now."

Cloud slept restlessly. The glow of the Lifestream from the torn land below made him feel uneasy. The and so they left before sunrise in the morning, stopping at Cosmo Canyon for food and rest and to briefly say hello to Red XIII. Cloud wouldn't admit that he felt relieved after a night of uneasy dreams lit by otherworldly lights, to see a familiar face. He'd woken up feeling lost somehow, chasing the threads of memories that never quite wove together, even all these years later. Yet sitting beside the familiar, ruddy body, listening to Red talk about nothing in particular, he felt easier, which filled him with a new kind of dread as he realized they'd have to leave and go on to their final destination.

Yet, with unshakable, grim purpose, Tseng led the way back to their bikes and away into the sunset. They only stopped for a few hours sleep that night. Cloud wouldn't have slept all night anyway.

They arrived at the ruins of the old Mako Reactor at dawn and stopped to rest, maybe gird themselves for what would come next. Cloud wondered for a moment, what more would be expected of him. He'd delivered Tseng here along with the package. Would it be all right to leave then? But somehow, as the Turk, looking somehow, for the first time, frayed and uneasy, walked with leaden steps up the hill to the little path that would lead to the town, he found himself following. He couldn't take his eyes off of the shadowed form above him on the hill with the pink and yellow morning light burning into his form. Cloud wondered where he mustered the strength to stand so tall, facing ten years of senseless silence.

Smoke curled from the little homes dotting the path. They stopped beside the graveyard for a long moment. Tseng seemed struck by something there. Cloud could just see wavy, auburn hair above a stone. A woman slowly stretched into form, her arms raising high above her, daisies grasped in her fist. She was wearing a blue dress and jacket. It matched her hair well. She turned to them, bright brown eyes widening, and then smiled. Somehow, Cloud felt he knew her, but he didn't know how. For a long moment, she studied him with what he could only assume to be a similar feeling of deja vu, or maybe it was genuine recognition. Then she turned to Tseng and the smile softened, yet seemed more brittle. She slowly crossed over to them.

"It's been awhile."

"I thought you might have come here."

"I've been taking care of them. For him," she said, lowering her eyes. "I'm not the real thing, but... Well."

Cloud looked between the two of them. The girl seemed to realize, starting, and then nodded to him. "I'm Cissnei. You wouldn't remember me."

"Have we met?"

"Just for a moment, a long time ago," she said, smiling. There was something playful and mysterious about the way her eyes wrinkled. It reminded him of...

"You have those?" she suddenly asked.

"Will it blow your cover?"

"No," she said, shaking her hair. She didn't look very old, but Cloud could see gleams of white and silver among the redder strands of her hair. "I never said I was the real thing. Well, let's go."

Cloud could still remember the faint curl of rose drawing through the air when the box was opened. He closed his eyes, remembering Aerith smiling in a ray of light. Flowers in the slum... She'd always smelled of flowers, even in the stuffy slum air. Even out in the dessert, under the sky, in the plains. They were her letters, then, written to Zack. He wondered, the air scraping through his hair to his scalp as the bike sped along, how she must have felt, never knowing for years. Most would have guessed that he'd died, but maybe she couldn't accept that until the end. His parents had been the same; it seemed at long last, they were able to mourn. He wondered which was better, the truth, or false hope? But in the end, he knew it was truth; he wouldn't have followed Tseng up the hill, otherwise.

Aeris had not accepted it in her lifetime. Was it easy to accept it... when she died, then? Would she have been sad to find that he was already in the Lifestream, too? Cloud hadn't felt sad in the moment when he had nearly joined them. It had felt good. But no matter what loss and pain they had suffered through, it was gone now. All that they couldn't accomplish in life, all that they did, all that could have been and was and wasn't... Did it matter to them anymore? But it mattered to him. It meant everything. The past was the past, but he wouldn't forget.

"Live... for both of us," he suddenly said.

"What?" Tseng called, over the roar of the machine.

"Nothing. The boat leaves in two hours. Let's hurry."

Tifa looked up and smiled as he walked in the bar. His boots were muddy, but she didn't remark on the prints he left from the door to the bar. Instead, she kept swirling the rag over the finished wood, watching him as he walked up to her and took down one of the now empty, yellowed bottles from the shelf. He set it on the counter and placed a few yellow and white flowers in it.

"Oh, those are nice. I didn't know there were any left."

"Just a few."

"Did you leave any?"

"I replanted them. We'll go see them sometime."

Tifa nodded, gently slapping him with the rag. "You better keep that promise."

"I won't forget."


End file.
